


The Boy and The Nettles

by dendriticgold



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2018-01-18 13:19:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1429981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dendriticgold/pseuds/dendriticgold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>S4 Timescale. Thomas and the Duke meet in America.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Boy and The Nettles

Though always one to pride himself on his appreciation of the finer things in life, it took less than half an hour of painfully repetitive ballet to have Thomas turning his opera glasses from the stage to the audience.

At first he watched Robert, who was comfortably enclosed in a private box to the side of the stage while he, Thomas, was high up in the back gallery with the other less than affluent attendees. Robert was every bit as bored as he was; if the overly exaggerated rise and fall of his shoulders indicated as big a sigh as Thomas suspected. But Robert was making a valiant effort to keep his attention focused on the stage, although Thomas suspected that had more to do with wanting to dissuade Cora’s brother from making too much by way of conversation rather than any inherent sense of duty to keep up appearances in New York high society.

Thomas resorted to the new game he had invented earlier that week; hunt out the high-society hip-flask.

As his eyes moved from one suspiciously shaped pocket bulge to another, to strangely held fur muffs and handkerchiefs that occasionally appeared with something oddly rectangular concealed within to hover over their owners glasses for a moment before quickly vanishing back from whence they’d come, Thomas suddenly felt himself overcome by a strange prickling of the hairs at the back of his neck.

Moving the opera glasses back slowly over the path his gaze had taken in the preceding moments, his eyes came to rest on a private box to the left side of the stage. A box which contained three ladies (two haggard and disdainful matriarch types; the other young, wiry and disapproving) and one man.

Thomas’s knuckles stretched white around the clutched binoculars as he checked, to be sure his eyes weren’t deceiving him, checked again, to be _absolutely_ sure, and then checked a third time in panic upon realising that the man in question had his own opera glasses and (unless Thomas was very much mistaken) had them trained precisely towards where he was sitting.

None other than Philip Crowborough was staring directly at him across the dark expanse of the theatre.

Thomas dropped his opera glasses into his lap as he shrank down into his seat, almost dropping to the floor entirely in a bid to conceal himself from view; reassuring himself that he was being absolutely ridiculous and it was nigh on impossible that Philip had noticed him amid all the other bodies crammed into the stalls in the cheap seats in the semi-darkness.

But then, he didn’t know how long Philip, no doubt as bored as he was, had been scanning the audience for; looking for something by way of entertainment and instead finding…What precisely?

The arrangement of the seats, staggered as they were a half or so feet higher than the row in front, meant that there was really nowhere to hide. Furiously embarrassed at the strange looks he was being given by those around him, Thomas pretended to have been retrieving his cigarettes from the floor.

No sooner had he sat down he decided the prospect of a cigarette suddenly sounded like a very good idea indeed.

Excusing himself through the gauntlet of legs between him and the aisle, stepping on several shoes when they failed to get out of his way quickly enough, his heart thumping in his chest the longer it took to make the journey, Thomas escaped out into the side corridor that led back down to the main entrance hall; the left corridor to be precise.

From somewhere down the far end, he heard the sound of a door opening and closing and shuffling hasty footsteps.

He turned and began striding briskly for the entrance hall, cursing his poor judgement in having made quite such an obvious spectacle of himself as he had left his seat.

‘Thomas.’

Thomas increased the speed of his steps.

‘Thomas!’

The urge to respond with ‘It’s Mr Barrow now’ was irresistibly strong, honour demanded that Philip be made aware that he had come up in the world. But that would constitute an opening, an opening to a conversation Thomas was dearly hoping to avoid.

He strode onwards, taking the steps as fast as he dared, praying for his pursuer to evaporate into a puff of smoke.

Or at least to trip and immobilise himself somehow to enable Thomas to make a clean getaway.

‘Thomas, I _know_ you hear me!’

‘Go back to your box.’ Thomas replied dully, without turning to look over his shoulder.

‘Thomas…’

The usher by the foot of the staircase stared in astonishment at the spectacle of a man stomping past him with a Duke in close pursuit, stubbornly declining to answer when he called his name.

‘For heaven’s sake Thomas…stop being so childish!’

Thomas spun about on his heel, glaring up at Philip who lagged a few steps behind him on the staircase.

Any possible reply that contained an adequate level of viciousness was rendered impossible by the presence of the usher, now only a few feet away and watching the exchange in rapt interest, so Thomas merely turned mutely back around again.

Thomas took the last few steps down with such ferocity that it was a wonder the marble didn’t crack under his feet, and headed swiftly over to the door; grateful to be a member of the lower classes who, sat in their jackets, didn’t have to wait half an hour for the staff to fetch them a coat, hat and cane before venturing outside.

He burst out from the strange muted acoustics of the theatre hall into the whines and roars of the city, feeling as though he had just surfaced for air after a particularly troublesome dive.

With shaking hands, his fingertips numb in shock, Thomas attempted to light a much needed cigarette.

‘Thomas, please…’

Thomas jumped.

Turning, he found to his utter surprise that Philip had followed him out onto the street without a hat or coat in sight. And it was an odd sight to be sure; a Duke improperly dressed.

Not that the sight was completely alien to Thomas.

Thomas gritted his teeth and blew a few frustrated puffs of smoke into the air before relenting and breaking the silence.

‘What do you want?’ He said ill-humouredly.

A brief sideways glance revealed a strangely endearing look of relief and gratitude on Philip’s face that Thomas had, at least for the moment, deigned to speak to him.

‘Well I…’ Said Philip, stuttering for words now that the moment was upon him. ‘How are you?’ He said, looking awkwardly down at the pavement rather than meeting Thomas’s eyes, cupping his arms around himself as the absence of a coat made itself felt against the chill of the evening.

Thomas watched him in silence until Philip finally raised his head to look at him, keeping him waiting just a moment too long for comfort, pretending to be about to speak and then halting to draw a kind of sick pleasure from the way that Philip’s body tensed in anticipation, his face glowing with hope, each time he did so.

‘What’s it to you?’ He eventually said, looking away dismissively.

‘Am I not allowed to be concerned about an old friend?’ Said Philip in that soft pleasant, sycophantic, voice that Thomas had listened to from a distance over almost an entire summer of waiting at drinks and dinner services ten years earlier.

‘I don’t treat my friends like that.’ Said Thomas bitterly, cigarette poised at his lips, equally referring to their nocturnal activities and the manner of their parting.

‘Oh, made some now have you?’ Philip teased, eyes bright at his own cleverness for a moment, fading back into himself almost immediately at the dark look in Thomas’s eyes. ‘Look…’ He began slowly. ‘…Thomas I…’

‘It’s Mr Barrow now.’ Thomas interjected, deciding he might as well. Deciding he’d best draw some sense of satisfaction from the moment given that the Duke didn’t look like he was going anywhere for the time being.

‘Valet?’

‘Under Butler.’ Thomas replied dismissively, as though it wasn’t his whole world. The sum total of everything he had strived (and failed) for.

‘Well done.’ Said Philip softly after a pause.

‘So…’ Said Thomas, smiling a little at Philip shivering in the breeze while he stood snug in his woollen coat. ‘…isn’t now the time when you tell me you’re in sudden _desperate_ need of an Under Butler, or perhaps even a Butler, if I’ll only wait a _little_ while, and while I’m waiting why don’t I just pop back with you to…’

‘For goodness sake, Thomas. You know it wasn’t like that.’

‘ _Mr_ Barrow.’ Thomas replied flatly.

‘And how many times have you addressed me tonight without using my proper title?’ Philip retorted, a little of his eagerness to pacify and please slipping away as a hint of genuine annoyance crept into his voice.

‘My apologies, Your Grace.’ Said Thomas pleasantly. ‘Why don’t you go fuck yourself, Your Grace.’

Thomas was slightly thrown when the look of irritation in Philips expression gave way, not to anger, but to a muted kind of sorrow.

‘Can we talk?’ Philip said at length. ‘It’s not proper to talk in the street. Could we…perhaps go for a drink?’

‘What rotten luck…’ Said Thomas breezily, taking a final drag on his cigarette. ‘…I hear there isn’t a drop of drink left in the whole of New York.’

‘I know a place.’ Said Philip, not rising to the challenge of Thomas’s stubborn petulance. ‘It’s not far from here. And we won’t be missed in there for at least another two hours…’ He indicated back towards the theatre with a twist of his head.

‘You here with your wife?’

Philip gave a small nod, his expression so bleak that, despite everything, Thomas couldn’t find it in his heart to comment further.

‘Will you wait for a moment while I get my coat?’ Said Philip. ‘And then we’ll go.’

Thomas knew he should say no. For so so many reasons he should say no.

The most pressing reason to say no, ironically, being the primary reason he wanted to say yes.

Namely, unfinished business.

‘I’ll wait.’ Thomas said.

**

_Philip raised an amused eyebrow as Thomas slowly paced back towards him across the bedroom floor; the latter having completed the task of folding away Philips clothes as instructed, but now choosing to return to Philips’s side with a distinct lack of the requested nightwear._

_‘Am I not to receive clothes then?’ Philip joked, still standing straight and firm, unabashed in his nudity after years of having others attend to his dressing, although a slightly different dynamic to usual was brewing._

_‘Mmmm…’ Thomas purred as he advanced. ‘Definitely not.’_

_He took hold of Philips hips with deft confidence, thumbs slipping pleasantly along the protrusions of his pelvis as Thomas drew in for a kiss._

_Eyes reverentially closed, moving slowly under the direction of Thomas’s lips, Philip responded, potent yet passive._

_There was nothing unusual there; Thomas the one to initiate physical contact and Philip more than happy to receive it, but adding nothing of his own direction to the proceedings._

_Early on Thomas had wondered if the Duke’s hesitation stemmed from wanting to avoid a sense of coercion given the vast gulf in their respective social positions. A thought which proved an early indication to Thomas that this liaison would not follow the usual course of his high-society rolls in the hay. But when it continued, even after Thomas had made it abundantly clear he would not be cowed by Philip’s social status, Thomas came to the intriguing conclusion that Philip liked it that way. That he wanted to be led._

_And neither Thomas’s ego or libido had any problem with that._

_‘Lie down.’ Thomas said softly, lightening his grip on Philip’s hips to enable him to pull away._

_Philip hesitated, suddenly tense beneath his fingertips._

_Thomas could understand his hesitation._

_The implications of lying stretched out naked on the bed were far more ‘involved’ than those of their usual over-the-clothes strokes and tugs, accompanied by ferocious kisses, but the summer season was ending in London. And tomorrow they would both be leaving._

_Between them there was the simple understanding:_

_If anything were going to happen._

_It needed to happen that night._

_Philip looked into Thomas’s eyes for some time, sucking his lips nervously between his teeth, unmoving._

_Thomas flicked his eyes pointedly towards the bed beside them._

_Philip hesitated a moment longer before nodding silently, briskly, and turning to lower his hands onto the bedspread._

_Thomas watched as Philip slid himself forwards towards the headboard, finding the level of submission in Philips posture as he crawled forwards surprisingly inflaming to his own anticipation._

_As Philip turned about to lie flat, head resting against the stack of pillows, Thomas began his own climb onto the bed._

_Still clothed, Thomas descended on him, much more hungry and needful than before. It was a kiss designed to stop the breath and hammer the pulse, not to mention firing up the loins. Thomas made no move to remove his own clothing, partly to avoid alarming Philip to the point of losing his nerve, but mostly because he suspected Philip would like it that way; like the feel of the fabric against his bare skin as he laid heavily over him._

_Thomas did however unbutton his trousers enough to enable him to push one of Philip’s hands down them._

_‘Come on…’ Thomas whispered throatily into Philip’s ear. ‘…if you want me to be kind to you, you’d best work to convince me.’_

_And bless him, Philip did. Though restricted by fearful inexperience and the constraints of Thomas’s clothing, Philip endeavoured to handle him as though his very life depended on it._

_At length, after allowing himself a good few minutes to internally marvel at having a Duke bringing him off, Thomas took ahold of both his wrists and pulled them up over Philip’s head against the headboard._

_‘Now you just keep those there for now.’ He muttered huskily, stealing another quick taste of his mouth before beginning his purposeful descent down Philip’s chest._

_Thomas maneuvered himself downwards slowly, kissing and nuzzling at the hair of Philip’s chest as he went. Usually something he abhorred; Thomas found he could stomach Philip’s furrier than usual physique. Because Thomas loved the scent of him, and it was never stronger than when he had his nose buried in Philip’s hair._

_When he had slipped down low enough, Thomas raised his upper body, leaning on his hands, to regard carefully the prospect of Philip’s erection. He licked his lips._

_‘Thomas you can’t seriously be thinking to…’ Philip began to rise up in concern._

_With a firm hand on his chest, Thomas pushed him back down onto the bed. At the same time he lowered his head to lick at the deliciously prominent ridge at the base of the underside of the head of Philip’s penis._

_He quickly progressed the encounter; opening his mouth wide to take Philip’s erection in his mouth, undulating his tongue firmly against the skin as he sucked at him._

_‘Oh…’ Philip’s fingers found the back of Thomas’s head and threaded themselves resolutely in his hair._

_Thomas stopped and looked up at him, lips poised tantalisingly close, close enough to leave a tiny saliva trail in evidence of where his mouth had been. ‘Hands. Above. Your. Head.’ He said devilishly, remaining immobile, watching Philip’s chest heaving up and down, until Philip consented to follow his instruction._

_He resumed his prior activity, slowly at first by way of punishment but soon giving way to the moment._

_By the time Philip’s desperate hands made their way back down to clutch at his head, Thomas was far too involved and intoxicated with the pleasure he knew he was giving Philip to pause for anything until the moment when he felt Philip come completely undone in body and soul, releasing into his mouth._

_They took a moment to catch their breath, Thomas still poised above Philip’s waist, Philip’s hands running gently over Thomas’s cheeks and neck; a fingertip trailing over flushed lips that were engorged and moistened by exertion._

_With a feral smile, Thomas climbed triumphantly back up Philip’s body, taking advantage of Philip’s relaxed state to creep between his legs as he moved forwards, pushing him impossibly open by the time their hips connected, teeth bared to deliver a lingering bite to Philip’s neck._

_‘Thomas…’ Philip whispered, not asking anything, just appreciating. But as Thomas’s hand snaked it’s way between them to begin the task of extracting his erection from his trousers, Philip’s hand darted out to squeeze at his upper arm to halt him._

_‘Not that.’ He said softly._

_‘What?’_

_‘Not that.’ Philip repeated, shaking his head._

_Thomas decided against doing Philip the insult of claiming to not know what he meant._

_Looking down between them at the sight of Philip’s open thighs bracketing his own Thomas gave an exaggerated huff of disappointment before raising his eye line again._

_‘Are you being serious?’ He asked, mostly to be sarcastic, but partly out of hope that this refusal was in fact part of a broader game of power play that would eventually resolve itself to both of their satisfaction._

_‘I am.’ Said Philip simply with an apologetic grimace, his hand stroking placatingly at the back of Thomas’s neck._

_‘Not afraid of little old me are you?’ Thomas teased, trying desperately to appear in good humour about the whole thing, lightly touching their lips together._

_‘Terrified. And I’d be a fool not to be.’ Philip smiled, enjoying the feel of Thomas’s hot breath at his lips._

_Thomas chuckled at that for a moment, but concluded with a deep sigh._

_‘Just not this time, alright?’ Said Philip gently._

_Thomas nodded, extracting himself reluctantly from between Philip’s thighs._

_‘Perhaps think of this as my way of ensuring there will be a next time.’ Philip continued, catching hold of Thomas’s wrist as he went to clamber off the bed entirely._

_Thomas nodded, grudgingly, but with a genuine hint of a smile at the implications of Philip expressing a wish to continue their relationship onwards, after the close of the heady and brief summer season that would have spelt ruin for anything other than a serious attachment._

_‘Will you lie down with me for a little bit before you go?’ Said Philip hopefully._

_After the slightest of pauses, Thomas nodded._

**

‘So how are you finding New York? Aside from the ballet tonight; which I think we both agree was rather ghastly!’ Philip said, seemingly determined to make conversation as they walked together. A strangely miss-matched pair in the eyes of the city.

Thomas didn’t reply. He was too busy scanning their surroundings as they walked through the streets of the city, looking for a suitable…

‘Down here.’ He suddenly said, indicating an alleyway that led from the main street; following round the corner of the adjacent building, forming a secluded space beyond, culminating in, presumably, a dead end.

‘What?’

‘Down here for a moment.’ Said Thomas, declining to wait for a reply before breezing past Philip to lead the way. No question at all as to whether or not Philip would follow.

‘I’m afraid to ask…’ Philip said dryly, albeit with a little uncertainty in his voice, as he scanned their surroundings; finding the alley every bit as grotty as the next, although to it’s credit (if such a thing could be said for an alley) it was broad. Particularly once one walked round the corner of the building, shielded from view from the main street; whose sounds and lights faded behind them.

‘Well it’s just that I don’t think we have much to say to one another that’s fit to be said in public.’ Thomas replied curtly, a decidedly fixed smile on his face.

Philip gave a slight bob of his head. ‘Touché.’ He conceded. ‘But it would be rather nice to have a seat.’ He looked down disapprovingly at the layer of black slime thinly coating the concrete beneath their feet. ‘So…’ He continued when it became apparent Thomas had no intention of relenting and walking on to the café. ‘…how have you been?’

Thomas thoughts ran over a decade of loneliness, death, financial ruin, emotional destruction and the constant pressure to be grateful for what essentially amounted to career stagnation, in a house where he was, almost without exception, unwanted.

‘Spectacular.’ Said Thomas flatly.

‘I’m…’ Philip said slowly, frowning, registering the sarcasm though not sure if Thomas was directing it at his lot in life, or just him. ‘….glad…or possibly, sad, to hear that.’

‘Thank you.’ Said Thomas, utterly without feeling.

Philip waited, evidently expecting Thomas to follow protocol and enquire as to his wellbeing.

Thomas didn’t.

With a slight sigh, Philip raised his head. ‘Well I’m…’ He began. After a few moments it became apparent that he was unable to conclude the sentence as regards to his health and happiness. ‘…just very glad to have run into you tonight.’ He said.

‘Why?’ Said Thomas tersely.

‘Well...you’ve been on my mind and…’

Thomas unexpectedly darted forwards to kiss him.

Well, it was more a butting of heads than a kiss, and almost so brief as to leave one in the dark as to precisely whether or not it constituted a kiss, but it left an expression on Philip’s face akin to one whom had just witnessed unequivocal evidence of biblical intervention.

Philip stared, open mouthed in wonder, rendered mute until the moment when Thomas leaned in a second time; at which point there was only time for a whispered ‘Thomas’ before words, and air, were driven from him by the press of Thomas’s lips.

It was hard to say at precisely which moment Philip realised unequivocally that Thomas’s purpose was not reconciliation.

But somewhere along the way, as his words of delight went unanswered and his expressed wishes to slow the pace of the encounter went unheeded, he knew.

But he didn’t pull away.

A tiny part of him believing that he could melt Thomas’s cool detachment (maintained even as his teeth bit at Philip’s lips, as his hands clutched at Philip’s hips), if he could only speak to him, keep him, a little while longer.

‘Thomas!’ Philip exclaimed as Thomas backed him up perilously close to the dirty brick wall. ‘Might I remind you that I didn’t even think it proper to be having a _conversation_ in the street!’ He laughed, as though Thomas would care.

Thomas didn’t laugh, in fact he wholly ignored him, closing the distance between them to push Philip’s immaculately tailored coat and smart (if a little thinning) hair up against the damp grit behind him as he continued to kiss him, increasingly demanding depth with firm slides of his tongue.

Philip moaned against him, sufficiently lost in the moment to disregard the filth at his back.

But not so far gone as to allow the insistent fingers that appeared at the fly of his trousers to pass unnoticed.

‘Thomas have you gone mad!?’ Philip shoved him sharply away. ‘Now…’ He said slowly, knowing Thomas was barely listening, but needing to at least pretend to have some control over the situation. ‘Don’t think I’m not delighted by…’

Philip’s eyes widened in panic as Thomas gave a small dismissive shrug and went to walk away.

‘Thomas? Thomas wait!’ He called, stumbling over his own feet as he rushed after him.

Thomas stopped walking. ‘I think I’d best be on my way Your Grace.’ Said Thomas levelly. ‘What with you deciding you’ve had enough.’

‘Thomas no!’ Said Philip quickly, resisting the urge to grab ahold of Thomas’s sleeve and pull him back.

‘No.’ Said Thomas. ‘I really think it’s best if I just…’

‘Undo them then.’ Said Philip quickly, his breath hanging heavily in the damp air around them. He pulled his coat back a little to expose the front of his trousers. ‘Come here and undo them.’

Philip stepped back as Thomas stepped forwards, until they were once more against the wall; but not before Thomas had pushed Philip’s coat off his shoulders and dropped it unceremoniously on the filthy floor.

A mockingly tender kiss later and Philip’s trousers were not only open but around his knees.

Philip abandoned attempts to talk as Thomas divested him of his waistcoat, stopped attempting to either help or hinder Thomas’s movements as he unbuttoned his shirt, crying by the point where Thomas ripped the front of his undershirt in impatience to expose his chest; spinning him about to face the wall.

And Philip let him do all of it.

He guessed Thomas’s goal (a suspicion soon confirmed at the press of insistent fingers down below). And he guessed Thomas’s purpose; namely something caught between revenge and closure. But deep inside him there was the forlorn hope that supplication, that compliance, even perhaps pity, in his acquiescing to Thomas’s cruel desire might stir in Thomas some of the old feelings of passion and care; might make him forgive. Might make this _not_ the last time he would see him.

So he leant into Thomas as the fingers at his entrance were replaced with Thomas’s erection, an erection hastily stimulated by the latter with his own hands, willing him inside.

It hurt.

Thomas didn’t go out of his way to be cruel as he thrust into him, but he wasted no time on tenderness either; focused wholly on efficiently pursing the act, eager to put this chapter of his life firmly onto the fire with this one final satisfaction.

There was no distraction to be found for Philip with regards to touches to his own penis, or indeed anywhere else on his body. Such niceties were not necessary for Thomas’s goal.

But Philip nevertheless put in every effort, by the only means left to him, in the hopes of making Thomas want to see him again.

He knew it was useless.

He felt the certainty of failure in the sheer lack of feeling communicated wordlessly through Thomas’s body and aura.

Still, he pushed back, then back again, soundlessly shouting, meeting the frantic rocking of Thomas’s hips.

As time wore on, the gradual extinguishing of the tiny glimmer of delusional hope left him. And he was wracked with sobs, crying with his head resting against his raised forearm, his skin dented and grazed by the coarse bricks of the wall he pressed up against for support, as Thomas indelicately concluded their encounter; decorating his backside with milky-white mess.

Philip didn’t say anything as Thomas pulled away. His sobs abated, but didn’t stop, as he slumped defeated against the wall.

‘Well there’s your bloody ‘next time’.

Thomas wasn’t sure if he had actually spoken the words aloud, but the meek nodding of Philips head as Thomas stared down at him showed he understood.

Thomas walked away with long strides, making haste for the comforting anonymity of his seat in the darkened theatre; hoping for the Duke’s sake that he had learnt to dress himself in the intervening years since their last encounter.


End file.
